


Can You Hear My Call?

by chawanmushii



Series: For the Best [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Hunk (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Might write more, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pining Lance (Voltron), Post-Break Up, Takes place after s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 21:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14434917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chawanmushii/pseuds/chawanmushii
Summary: Lance can't break a habit.





	Can You Hear My Call?

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any rights to Voltron or its characters. This is a fan-work.

For the millionth time, Lance catches himself staring blankly at the familiar screen of his communicator, fingers hovering over a certain name – a name which still haunts his mind every dobash he spends awake. It’s become something of a bad habit of his lately, his limbs moving unconsciously and doing things he hadn’t realised he was doing until he’d actually done it.

He sighs and lowers the communicator he was holding to the side, the Altean contraption Pidge had given him clattering against the surface of his seat, casting himself into darkness as he did so.

It was late in the night - or rather, the castleship’s simulated night - and Lance was in the team’s usual lounge, the normally busy place blanketed in shadow and devoid of any other signs of life at this time of the day. Lance hadn’t bothered turning on any light, leaving the area feeling gloomy and empty. Which suited Lance’s mood just fine.

Lance pulls his knees closer towards his chest, his free arm around his folded legs as he shivers for reasons unrelated to the temperature of the castleship. He glances out of the corner of his eye at the communicator he still held in his hand, at the same screen he’s been staring at practically every night for the past several weeks. It’s not something he _means_ to do, really, it’s just that… he’s been having trouble sleeping and the fatigue from never-ending missions has caught up to him, leaving him weak and susceptible to doing things he consciously doesn’t _want_ to do but instinctively does anyway. Especially during the night.  

Nights weren’t really a good time of the day for Lance. He doesn’t like how dark or how quiet the night time brings with it and it _gets_ to him. Having company usually helps him through and while the team was great for that, everyone needed to sleep or just have some private time to themselves eventually and that left him alone. When they had first ended up in space, the nights were exceptionally hard on Lance, with his being unable to stop himself from reminiscing about his family back on Earth and so, he had spent many a sleepless night, homesick and lonely. This continued up until the day an unexpected miracle happened and Lance found himself in a relationship he would never have believed could have happened until it did. Ever since then, his nights no longer needed to be spent alone and were instead filled with stolen kisses in the hallways and warm cuddles in bed.   

That blissful period had been Lance’s happiest since coming to space. Even when stuff happened and circumstances began to change, it hadn’t been too bad at first. Lance understood that being in a relationship didn’t mean that both parties were always going to see eye-to-eye, especially for _them_. They always did have their differences and it was something they both acknowledged and accepted. For a while, things had been going great. But alas, such peaceful days (ironic as it may sound) were not meant to last.

Perhaps inevitably, the fact that they were in the middle of an intergalactic war could only serve to complicate matters and they were both aware of it from the very beginning. Being stubborn, hot-headed young men who had their own ideas of what was best for the team and the war, neither of them were the type to back down from their beliefs. So it goes without saying that if ever there came a time when their roads needed to diverge, then it was something that would happen naturally and they would just to have to deal with it if it did.

And happen it did.

It was the beginning of the end.

When choices were made and their paths first departed, they did their best to sustain their relationship. They kept in touch through their communicators – the very same one Lance held in his hand and which each paladin (or former paladin) would have one of – speaking to each other at least once every few days. Things were okay initially, but then Lance noticed that the calls became less and less frequent. They drifted apart and the war took its toll. Soon enough, they were barely speaking to each other. Not for lack of trying on Lance’s part though. Lance regularly contacted the other, the same way he’d been doing since the start of their long-distance relationship but the former paladin just… always seemed to be away or unreachable. Lance had tried to be understanding. The Blade of Marmora did a lot of reconnaissance and a lot of them lasted for weeks on end. They were all busy with their roles and Lance shouldn’t be selfish. Things would get better, right?  

Wrong.  

Soon after that mission at Naxzela, the former paladin had dropped the bomb on Lance, leaving the new Red Paladin confused and broken.  

Even now, Lance wasn’t entirely sure what had caused it. Had the fire between them fizzled out? Had he gotten over Lance? Or did he not lov—

Lance consciously stopped his trail of thought right there.

Perhaps the other’s sudden decision to leave the team had affected the state of their relationship more than he’d realised? The more he thought about it, the more he felt the decision to leave might not have been so sudden after all. In any case, Lance had a feeling that the other’s leaving wasn’t the actual trigger for the decline in their relationship. No, if he had to harbour a hunch, he’d say that it had actually started happening much earlier. And while Lance couldn’t pinpoint an exact timing, he did have a few guesses. It didn’t make him any less depressed though.

Nonetheless, Lance knew there wasn’t much point in dwelling on past things. He had respectfully accepted the other’s decision even if he hadn’t shared the sentiments. He had always known anyway that their relationship carried risks and he had been fully aware that they were likely to run into complications. Lance had known all that. He did, and yet, he had stupidly believed that they could work it out against all odds. How naïve of him.

Lance jolted when he noticed there was a sudden buzzing sound. He blinked, staring dumbly at his communicator, which had somehow ended up under his nose again. But this time, instead of showing that all-too-familiar screen, it was showing a large Altean symbol. Lance’s mind registered then that the communicator was in the middle of activating a call. And the recipient of the call was none other than the same person whose name was constantly at the foremost of his mind.

Heart jumping into his throat, Lance immediately smashes his finger on the Altean symbol equivalent of the “end” button non-stop until the calling symbol disappeared and he was back on the previous screen.

When had he started the call? Had the connection gone through to the other communicator before it was stopped? How long was it ringing before Lance had noticed? _How many times has this happened now?_

The thoughts reeled through his mind, like a train-wreck unable to stop itself from causing collateral damage as it overpowered emergency brakes and rammed through stop signs. Over the last few days, Lance’s control had been slipping. It was so bad that he’d find himself zoning out for periods of time, only to come to again when he’s done something stupid. Like making a call to that one person he’s not supposed to call. Nor is he even allowed to call. Not anymore. Nope. He really should _not_ be calling.

Yet all Lance wanted was to hear _that_ voice again. 

Despite Lance’s slip-ups though, the inadvertent calls had never actually made it to its intended recipient. Not that these ‘accidental calls’ happened all that often, mind you, except yes they _did_ happen more often than they should, much to Lance’s frustration at himself.

Either way, it wasn’t much of a problem since most of the time the calls simply rang out – Lance will stubbornly insist to himself that this was a good thing because God-knows what might happen if the calls actually got through, right? He was sort of used to it anyway since the time their relationship started taking a turn for the worse. And other times, like tonight, Lance would end the call on his own, panicked and scared to find out what might happen if the call _did_ get through. And anyway, it’s not like _he_ ever called Lance back anyway, despite the many missed calls that Lance must have left on the other’s communicator up until now. So it really didn’t matter.    

Something twists in Lance’s chest at the thought, the now-familiar ache throbbing within him like a second heartbeat. He buries his face in his knees, the communicator dropping once more to his side. Lance feels drained, exhausted. But still he remains wide-awake, unable to find the reprieve of sleep, thoughts and memories swirling unbidden in his mind, ironically growing more and more vivid as the days flew on.

Lance jumps for a second time that night when the door to the lounge ‘swooshes’ open suddenly, revealing a sleepy Yellow Paladin.

“Dude, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Hey, Hunk,” Lance greets, re-settling into calm upon realizing the new presence was just his best bud. “Did you need me for something?”

“Hmm, not really.” Hunk rubbed his stomach, making his way over. Lance quickly shuts the screen of his communicator with a swipe of his finger just as Hunk takes a seat beside him.  If he noticed anything amiss, he doesn’t mention it. “I woke up feeling hungry so I was thinking of whipping up some supper for myself. Went over to your room to ask if you wanted any but realised you weren’t in bed.”

“Aw, thanks for thinking of me, buddy,” Lance smiles genuinely at his friend. “And as much as it pains me to do so, I’ll pass this time. Don’t feel hungry.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Silence falls between them. Hunk stares contemplatively at Lance while Lance strains to keep his expression neutral and aloof, hoping that the tiredness doesn’t show too obviously on his face. It wouldn’t do to make Hunk worry. Unfortunately, his efforts were in vain. Who was Lance kidding?

“Lance…” Hunk begins. “Are you okay? You seem kind of down lately. Is there something you want to talk about?”

It takes effort for Lance to avoid visibly flinching. “What, me? Naww, I’m fine. Just a little tired maybe from all the missions we’ve been having lately and with all these stuff that’s going on with Lotor, you get how it is. But other than that? I’m good.”

Hunk didn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Totally.”

Hunk’s eyes bore into him, as if trying to see through his lie. The intensity of that probing gaze lasts only for a moment more and then it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Right. If you say so, Lance. Just remember you can always come to me if you need to talk it out.”

“Yeah... thanks. I appreciate it, buddy.”

 Hunk gets up. “Well, okay then. I’m gonna go hit the kitchens for my midnight snack then I’m off to bed. Don’t stay up too late, dude.”

“I won’t.”

And then Hunk was gone.

Lance stares after his best friend. As nosy as Hunk can be, he knew where lines needed to be drawn and he would never force Lance into doing something he wasn’t ready to yet. Lance appreciated that about him. While Hunk had _always_ been his go-to man when Lance needed to talk or more accurately, rant, about his crushes and relationships, _this_ particular one was different.

This one was special.

So, _so_ special.

_We need to talk._

Long limbs stiffen at the sudden whisper of words resurfacing from where it was tucked firmly at the back corner of his mind. Unwilling to relive it any more than he already has since that fateful day, Lance does his best to drive his thoughts into different directions in an attempt to shut the memories out. It’s how he’s been coping. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always work.

And it’s not working now.

The mind can be a cruel thing sometimes.

_This needs to end._

Lance’s arms shake, his fingers grabbing fistfuls of the material of the blue robe he wore. He willed his mind to stop the chain of memories, desperate to save himself from re-experiencing the heartbreak that had never really mended itself.  

 _Goodbye_.

“Lance?”

Lance’s eyes snap open wide. He didn’t know when he had closed them but that’s the least of his concerns now. Not now when he’d heard _that_ voice that had called out… that _voice_ which had called his name, _that_ was—

“Lance, is that you?”

And that was when Lance notices that the communicator had somehow ended up in front of him again, wild, blue eyes taking in the armor-clad figure reflected on the screen, the once-upon-a-time familiar scene of the Blade of Marmora sleeping quarters in the background, the greenish symbol at the bottom of his screen’s feed showing him that the call was _indeed_ connected live.

For one long moment, Lance stares right into the face of the person he’d longed to see all this time, at the familiar deep, dark-purple hue of the eyes of the person he’d been pining after for a much longer time than he’d ever truthfully admitted.

The person he had never stopped loving despite everything.  

_“Keith…”_

Before Keith could say anything more, in one sudden moment of lucidity that burst through like a guiding beacon in a stormy night, Lance hit the “end” button, abruptly cutting off the call.

He threw the communicator on the floor, the equipment skidding noisily, the resulting sounds echoing off the walls of the lounge before the device came to rest several feet away, out of Lance’s reach. But Lance wasn’t looking. He had buried his face in his knees once more, arms wound tightly around them as harsh breaths overtook him, his chest folding in on itself as the burn of uncontrollable tears break-free from beneath his squeezed-shut eyelids, muffling a broken sob which makes its way past his lips against the fabric of his clothes.

Why did Keith pick up? _He never picks up._ What had he been about to say? What was that look on his face? Was it worry? Was it surprise? Was it _pity_? Did Keith pick up because he _pitied_ Lance?

Lance’s thoughts spiralled down quickly, each one worse than the last.

Lance wishes it would stop. He wishes Hunk were back here. He wishes he could forget. He wishes he would stop being so stupid. He wishes he never called Keith. He wishes Keith never picked up. He wishes he could talk to Keith. He wishes he could see Keith. He wishes he could hold Keith. He wishes he still _had_ Keith.

He really, _really_ just misses Keith.

He wishes Keith would call back.

Keith never calls back.


End file.
